?)'' 



POEMS i> 



BY 



ROBERT H. TAYLOR 



" Why should we not one blushing flower, 
From pleasure's garland steal ? 
Why should we not employ the hour 
To prove the love we feel ?" 






NEW YORK: 

MARRENNER & LOCKWOOD, 459 BROADWAY, 

Corner of GranJ-street. 



1848. 



.T4 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1847, by 

ROBERT H. TAYLOR, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for 

the Southern District of New York. 



DANIEL ADEE, PRINTER, 107 TULTON-STREET. 



^ 



CONTENTS 



Advertisement ........ vii 

GOOD-MORNINO 1 

Affliction 2 

Lili-en-thal ........ 3 

Solitude 7 

Gayety 9 

What is Love? 10 

Sorrow ......... 13 

Alone 13 

Money ......... 15 

To Susannah 16 

The Country 18 

A Lay of the Heart # 20 

Liberty and Politics 21 

The Spirit of the Hill 23 

Why art Thou Sad ? . . » . . . 25 

The JNIystic lliver 27 

A Melody - 29 

Where is God? 30 

Forgive and Forget ....... 33 

*A Day in the Country 34 

Song. — Once upon a Time ..... 35 



IV 



Ptosalie; or, The Bachelor's Blighted Hopes 

A Starlight Evening 

Grumbling .... 

To Elizabeth . 

The Forester's Appeal . 

Camillo .... 

A Tender Subject 

Cui Bono ? . . . 

Beauty and Worth 

Changes .... 

The Battery 

Bright Wine and Bright Eyes 

The Dead .... 

Life a Shadow . 

Little Estelle 

Grief .... 

Poor Bob .... 

A Voice from the Spirit-Land 

Pleasant Hours . 

The Little Bridge over the Brook 

The Artist's Wish 

To Caroline .... 

The Ideal Poet-Land . 

On the Death of a Child . 

Harmony .... 

Souhaits d'Ami 

The Passing Breeze 

Ballad— The Old Man . 

The Heart's Yearnings 

Henri ; or, the Flower by the Way-side 

The Departure 



36 

38 

39 

41 

42 

44 

46 

47 

48 

49 

51 

53 

55 

59 

60 

61 

62 

64 

65 

66 

67 

69 

70 

71 

73 

75 

76 

77 

78^ 

79 

82 



Hope 84 

The Victim of Consumption ..... 85 

Friendship's Rosy Bower ..... 87 

I touch the Harp once more ..... 88 

They are Past 90 

The Sisters 91 

On the Death of an Infant ..... 94 

To Mary 95 

The Garland 96 

When Thou art Here 97 

Delia 98 

The Song of the Joy-Forsaken 100 

Song. — Be Blithe and Gay 102 

Recollections ........ 104 

The Heart that feels for Others . . . 106 

Flowers 108 

" Take heed lest ye Fall'' 110 

The Music of a Laugh 112 

The Stump of a good Cigar 113 

The Boy that fed the Fishes 114 

A Sonnet on Sonnets . 116 

Charity 117 

Malice 120 

The First and Last Links of a Golden Chain .121 

Good-night 126 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

The following trities have been 
written at intervals of relief from active occupations, 
that require an almost total sacrifice of the Ideal to the 
Material ; and the reader will doubtless find many in- 
elegancies either to condemn or excuse, as he may be 
critical or indulgent. The author's only hope is, that 
sufiicient good may be found in them to justify the act 
of their publication. 



GOOD-MORNING! 

How many you meet with an o'erclouded brow, 

When first you go forth in the morning, 
"Who only salute you with cold, formal bow, 

And e'en that has a look as of scorning. 
The air of the city must sure give a chill, 

Its denizens all look so warning, 
While cheerfully greets you with honest good-will, 

The villager's hearty " good-morning !" 

There's an effort, at best, in the least little word, 

Of a greeting you get in the morning ; 
If a smile on the lip should e'en haply be stirred. 

Its wearer it is not adorning : 
It's a cold smile at most — it springs not from the heart, 

And only reminds you of fawning ; 
But the villager's smile of his soiil seems a part. 

When he greets you with hearty " good-morning !" 

No ! 'tis not in the air — 'tis the citizen's care 

That gives him a gloom in the morning ; 
Such trading and trafiicking going on there. 

Every charm of the heart 'tis suborning ; 
In the country they're up, and away in the fields 

At the daylight's earliest dawning, 
And the heart of a man is so light that it yields 

With pleasure, a hearty " good-morning !" 



AFFLICTION. 

" The good are better made by ill, 
As odours crushed are sweeter still." 

If our life were all sunshine and pleasure, 
Where we knew not Affliction s dread rod, 

The blest bounties of life we'd not treasure, 
Nor in gratitude look up to God. 

But occasional showers of sadness 
Make us value the brightness of joy, 

And impart to our moments of gladness. 
Lasting charms that grief cannot destroy. 

Were the heart never chastened by sorrow, 
Only thoughts of the world would have sway ; 

We'd be careless of thought for to-morrow, 
And unmindful of favors to-day. 

Affliction's the fire that chastens the ore 
From the dross of the world's ambition ; 

'Tis the power that teaches our thoughts to soar 
Heavenward, with humble contrition. 

Affliction's a cloud, that, passing away, 
Leaves the sun of enjoyment brighter, — 

The darkness of night, that maketh the day 
Of the good msifi purer and lighter ! 



LILI-EN-THAL. 

In a bright German vale lived Cerise, young and fair, 
Whose most perfect charms vied with the brightest one 

there ; 
But so pale was her brow, and her figure so tall, 
That she only was known as fair " Lili-en-thal."* 

And lovely as lily, and modest as love-like ; 
Her heart it was gentle, — most gentle and dove-like. 
The young swains of the village had courted her, all. 
But yet smiled not on any the " Lili-en-thal." 

To all she was gentle, and by all she was loved ; 

Yet her love to many too " stoical" proved ; 

All the beaux were bewitched, and were charmed by her 

thrall, 
But no love and all friendship was " Lili-en-thal." 

One day in the valley while tending her fleece. 
In a nook calm and lonely Gustave met Cerise ; 
And he pressed her white hand, so pretty and small. 
And whispered a love-lay to " Lili-en-thal." 

Now blushing, the maiden drooped her eye-lids the while; 
' Rude Gustave," said her tongue, but her lips ?^o?<M smile! 

♦ German. — " Lily of the Valley." 



Then he thought of tlie pwainp, how he conquered them all, 
For he'd won and they lost the fair " Lili-en-thal !" 

Ah! Gustave, hath thy pride been the mover of guile? 
Or lovest thou truly — art worthy the smile ? 
Oh ! the smiles of Cerise, should on tender hearts fall, 
For she knows no deception, fair " Lili-en-thal !" 

And he vowed by the Father who ruleth above — 
And she, for the first time, knew what 'twas to love ! 
For she felt then for others her " friendship" was small 
Gustave had the wliolo heart of " liili-cn-thal." 

How swift flew the hours with the lovely Cerise, 
She thought of Gustave',' and lior heart was at peace. 
— She slept on the bank, 'neath the old pine-tree tall : 
Hist ! list to the day-dream of " Lili-en-thal." 



" On the bank near the brook. 
As alone I reclined, 
A strange vision arose 
To the eye of my mind. 

"I thoughfa little bird 

On my finger Hitting came, 
And it seemed that I knew it, 
But I knew not its name. 



" 'Twas a bright little thing, 
And the hue that it wore, 
More beauteous than any 
That I'd seen before. 

" It soared in the sun-light, 

Dipped its wing in the spray. 
Then with meteor swiftness 
Went flitting away. 

" I saw it a moment — 
The next it was gone, 
And then, more than ever, 
I felt me alone! 

" Oh ! the bright little bird, 

Though I knew not its name — 
Since I've seen it, and missed it, 
I can't feel the same !" 



This to Gustave she told, on his arm as she leant. 
And slie trustfully asked if *•' he knew what it meant ?" 
"'Twas a tempter from dream-land, my Cerise — and 

tliat's all, 
And it meaneth just nothing, my * Lili-en-tlial.' " 

And he vowed l)y the Fatlicr, who ruleth above, 
Tliat her, and her only, he ever would love. 



(5 



But the bird in licr Orcani, seemed her heart to appal, 
For, " Why Ihnv it away ?" asked '• Lili-on-thah" 

t 

I'll tell thee thy dream, girl, wliile thy doubt I deplore ; 
I'll toll why the bird did from thy presence sour. 
Would 1 could lling- o'er it oblivion's dark pall, 
For it must wound the heart of the " ] iili-on-thal." 

The brio-ht little bird that seemed hov'rinij; above, 
And alightini; to i!;roet thoo, my dear girl — was Love! 
But another one charmed him, he harked to the call, 
And How from tho presence of " Lili-en-thal." 

'^I'his, this \3 thy dream, girl, whose truth I deplore; — 
(lustave may have loved thee, but loves thee no more. 
Oh ! chock thy deep sighing — forbid the tears fall, 
1 but interpret thy dreaming, fond "Lili-en-thal." 

P;:lor grow tho n\aidon's ohook, loss buoyant was her 

tread ; 
Ere a month had passed away, Ciustuvo another wed. 
8ho had treasured his vows — he had broken them all ; 
AVhat tluMi the emotion of "Lili-en-thal?'' 

. Ah! sad thou to soo hor. for though nothing she spoke> 
On her brow it was written — hor fond heart was broke! 
8he began soon to droop, and her spirits to fall, 
And she died ; — poor Cerise ! — poor *' Lili-en-thal I" 



And a pale lily grew o'er her lowly-matle hed, 

And it drooped o'er the mound where grief's tear-drop 

uas shed : 
IJut the soul of the maiden had loosened its thrall ; 
Not in the grave, but in Heaven, is " Lili-en-thal." 

But oh ! faithless Gustave, wheresoe'er thou mayst go, 
Thy own heart will be sorrowed by suflF 'ring and wo ; — 
This reward for thy deed will most surely befal, 
For 'twas thou, broke the heart of the " 1 iili-en-thal." 



SOLITUDE. 

Oh, gentle Solitude! 'tis tliine 

To wake in mortals thoughts divine, 

Without alloy ; 
Up to the God that gave them birth, 
To raise their minds from lowly earth 

With holy joy. 

'Tis thine to quench ambition's fire, 
And kindle a more warm desire 

For fitter themes ; 
For calmer scenes and ha})py liours, 
Where Nature in her lonely bowers, 

With beauty teems. 



Thy peaceful haunts are riclily twined, 
With grateful thoughts of joy refined, 

And brightened hue, 
Where man forgets his many woes, 
And gently sinks to soft repose, 

To pleasures new. 

Ye downcast ! wait ye with the throng ? 
The stay your sorrows will prolong ; 

The world is cold : 
Then sock some spot where worldly din 
Is not; and with your thoughts within, 
Calm converse hold. 

Oh, Solitude! thou precious balm 

That canst the troubled mind make calm. 

Thou hast my praise ; 
For thou hast ever been my friend, 
And thou dost bountifully lend 

Thy sunny rays, 

To re-illume the sadden'd heart, 
And to allay the bitter smart 

That misery knows. 
Seek, mortal ! seek her bowers now, 
And slu^ will bind tliy aching brow 

With twinins: bouffhs. 



G A YE T Y. 

Check not the merry laugh of happy minds, 
Chide not the weary soul when joy it finds ; 
For many are the thorns around us set, 
And few the relaxations we can get 
Proiu troubles dire ; and fewer still 
Our happy moments, wholly free from ill ; 
Then when we catch a theme for mirth and jrlee, 
Ring loud the peals of joyous gayety ! 

Sweet Summer is at hand, then heed the song 
Of merry birds who warn us, as they throng, 
To pluck the ripe fruits now, and not delay, 
Till fruits and summer botli shall pass away. 
Join the glad ones Avho trip o'er hill and dale, 
And give their echoing voices to the gale ; 
And (for you know the season short will be) 
Ring loud the peals of joyous gayety ! 

The past a sadness hath to all revealed ; 
The present hardly has the traces healed, 
Of woes that rankled in the weary mind : 
The future — will it spare the chilling wind, 
That pierced the heart of this lone one, or that 
Who erst in coldest, drearest misery sat ? 
Alas! 'tis sealed. But ere the jore^e/i^ flee, 
Ring loud the peals of joyous gayety ! 



10 



Winter invades the Summer's golden bow'rs, 
And steals with ruthless hand, her beauteous flow'rs ; 
Grief chases joy, and joy succeeds to grief; 
Grief's stay is long — Joy's visit is but brief; 
Yet if improved, we'll be prepared to meet 
With scenes that may, perchance, not be as sweet ; 

Then wherefore sigh ? Let us with accents free 

Ring loud the peals of joyous gayety ! 

In such a changing world our lot is cast, 

A phase is scarce developed ere 'tis past. 

Old Time rolls on, and brings our strifes and woes, 

Our hopes and disappointments, to a close ; 

Death comes to bid us quit the scenes of earth — 

The cold grave yawns ; our sorrows and our mirth 

Are all forgotten. Then no more can we 

Ring loud the peals of joyous gayety ! 



WHAT IS LOVE? 

Ask the blushing maiden, whose happy life 
Has not been marked by earth's conflicting strife. 
What is love's spell ? she'll say it is a dream. 
Whose visions, like a fairy, rippling stream. 
Flow lightly on, without an angry Avave, — 
A joyful guest, whose converse she doth crave, 



11 



So sweet its tone, its plaintive lay so kind ; 
Its welcome voice so charming and refined, 
That she can listen Avith delighted sense, 
And deem it a refreshing spring, from whence 
Life's happiness comes forth ; the limpid source 
From which ethereal pleasures only course. 

Ask the disappointed belle ; the faded flower 
That once so gladly hailed the evening hour, 
To meet her gay admirers as they came, 
Attracted by her matchless beauty's fame. 
And knelt, and sigh'd, and feign'd profound esteem • 
Ask what this passion, love, to her doth seem ? 
Alas ! she cries, trust not its fancied power, 
'Tis transient as the passing summer shower ; 
It is a phantasy — on hope deferr'd 
It lives ; it quickly dies, and is interred 
In memory's grave, a warning to us all. 
From its false hopes, our minds to disenthral ! 

Ask the devoted hermit what is love ! 
And pointing to the starry climes above, 
He'll talk to thee of Heaven ; of things divine ; 
Of Him who causes all those stars to shine; 
Who gives us health, and life, and intellect ; 
He sagely, justly, claims that our respect 
Is due to him alone, without wliose power 
We could not muve ur live fur one short hour. 



12 



Secluded from the world's unceasing din, 

No earthly thoughts the wise man's mind can win, 

And his retired habits make him see, 

In earthly love a worthless vanity. 

But ask, oh ! ask the warm and gushing heart, 
That doth to every scene a glow impart, 
Which, not content with words, attests with deeds 
Its priceless worth, and rapidly succeeds 
In gaining to itself our best regard. 
Our firmest friendship, and our praising word — 
But need we ask, when every motion, aye. 
And every look the answer can convey ! 
To love, it is not simply in the charm 
Of manner or of wit ; the helping arm 
Must be stretched forth to all, below, above 
Our own peculiar sphere ; this, this is Love. 



13 



SORROW. 

Where breathes the man 
Who has no sorrow felt ? 

Find, if you can, 
Where such an one has dwelt. 

Not one has lived ; 
The happiest of our race 

(Not one relieved) 
Are mark'd with sorrow's trace. 

In Heaven alone 
Has perfect joy its home, 

For there its throne : 
To earth it ne'er will roam ! 



ALONE. 

The air is filled with perfume sweet, 
Upborne from many a modest flower, 

The fields are decked with yellow wheat. 
The jasmine decks the dainty bower ; 

The little birds their daily song 
Repeat with blithsome, merry tone : 



11 



Yet what to mc the foathery throng ? 
I heed them not — I am alone ! 

The sun shines gajly forth to-day, 

And gilds the landscape with his glow, 
And on in foams of sparkling spray, 

The gladsome waters brightly flow. 
Yet not to me the brilliant scene 

A passing charm can fondly own ; 
I find no joy, or peace serene 

In all this glow ;— I am alone ! 

In yonder copse the children play 

All happily together, 
From tree to tree they bound away, 

As lightly as a feather ; 
In all their little sports, there seems 

To be a buoyant gladness thrown. 
But children and their playful themes 

Are nou2;ht to me — I am alone ! 

And now the sun sinks in the west, — 
His softened rays subdued, yet bright, 

Full many a hill have gayly drest. 
In gorgeous robes of golden light ; 

But still 1 sadly sigh, while fills 
My eye a tear for pleasures flown, 



And though the sun makes glad the hills, 
It cannot me — I am alone ! 

But hark ! o'er hill and dale there comes 

A sound I've known full long and well, 
Through all the wood its music hums — 

It is the village vesper bell. 
Hush, murm'ring heart, thy fears give o'er, 

No longer thus in sadness moan ; 
Go — let thy prayers to Heaven soar — 

Go serve thy God — thou'rt not alone ! 



MONEY. 

God of the many ! gilded lucre ! why 
To gain thee do all eager mortals try ? — 
Since, gained or lost, thou art their misery ! 

How many schemes to win thee wc invent; 
How many lives in thy pursuit are spent ; 
How many souls to torment thou hast sent ! 

'Twere well to pause before thy glit'ring shrine. 
And trace the rays that there delusive shine. 
Ere we to thy embrace our souls consign. 



16 



'Twere well to trace on each historic page, 

Thy blighting influence in every age, 

And learn the task in which we would engage. 

Oh ! hard condition, — to pursue a form, 

And find it but the shadow of a charm, — 

Yet more than shadow — more than canker-worm ! 

For worms but touch the body, thou, the soul ; 
Contamination, worse than poisoned bowl, 
O, money ! — is thy wild and fierce control ! 

Still, as a means, " put money in thy purse ;" — 
But hoarded as an end, oh ! nought is worse ; 
It is the miser's fiend ! the proud man's curse ! 



TO SUSANNAH. 

In olden time, when cavaliers were brave. 

For ladies fair their blood they oft did spill ; — 

When ladies of us now a favor crave. 

We spill but ink, from out the "gray goose quill !" 

The fair Susannah bids me write, but how 
(Tell me ye gods !) shall I begin the lay, — 

Shall I indite " a sonnet to her brow," 

Or paint the graces in her curls tliat play ? 



n 



'Twcre well, perhaps, to praise the " sparkling- eye," 
And dwell awhile upon the " marble brow," 

Then muse, enwrapt, upon the " gentle sigh," 
And rhapsodise upon a " lover's vow." 

But soft — I've only met her once, and then 
I saw her not as poets paint their loves, 

" A sylphide hov'ring o'er a fairy glen," 
And " gentle angel, goddess of the groves." 

Oh no ! — although a being quite divine, 

She hath no wings, but walks, like other maids. 

And in the sunlight, though her hair may shine, 
I could perceive, I vow, no golden braids ! 

Since then, Susannah, thou art of the earth. 
While sylphs and angels always tenant air. 

And thou must yet have titles for thy worth, 
I'll call thee — graceful, gentle, modest, fair ! 



18 



THE COUNTRY. 

I love the country ! and its scenes 

Of quietness and joy ; 
Where uproar never intervenes, 

Where pleasures never cloy. 

For thronged and busy city life, 

A love I ne'er possessed, 
Yet have I mingled in its strife, 

By business oppressed. 

But O ! when from its toil awhile, 

I wander for relief, 
The country doth my hours beguile, 

And checks the flow of grief. 

The country fresh ! the country fair ! 

A balmy fragrance owns, 
That heals our every rankling care. 

And gentle peace enthrones. 

Its buds and blossoms in the spring, 
And flowers of briglitened hue. 

Around the sense a perfume fling. 
Like nectar'd honey-dew ! 



19 



its pleasures has tlie summer, too, 

Its fruits the gracious fall ; 
And blossoms, fruits, and flowers, strew 

A beauty through them all. 

The verdure of the plain and hill, 

The richness of the field, 
The sparkling of the rippling rill, 

A grateful pleasure yield. 

The flocks in grazing pasture green, 

That skip in playful mood, 
O'er nature's carpeting of sheen, 

Reflect their Maker's good. 

Oh ! wouldst thou seek a fitting place 
For thought and calm devotion ? 

God's works, then, in their wildness trace,- 
A theme for pure emotion ! 



20 



A LAY OF THE HEART. 

'Tis a lay of the heart, 

And affection's sweet chords 
Are touched by the fingers of love, — 
And soft is the tone 

Of the endearing words, 
That the lovers breathe through the grove. 

'Tis a lay of the heart, — 

See the enchanting smile, 

Now playing on Youth's ruby lips ; 

How little of care 

Knows that maiden the while, 

As smilingly onward she trips, 

'Tis a lay of the heart, — 

Note the deep, modest hue, 

That crimsons the beautiful cheek ; 

It still lingers there. 

When so seemingly true, 

The lover doth tenderly speak. 

'H^is a lay of the heart, 

'Tis the nuptial vow, 
And a tear bedims her bright eye ; — 



21 



For tlio' loved and caressed, 

Her home leaves she now, 
Her home leaves she now with a sigh. 

Hark ! no lay of the heart ! 

No kindly word spoken ! 
No music tones break on the ear, 
But heartless neglect 

A pure heart hath broken. 
Whose sternest reproof is — a tear ! 



LIBERTY AND POLITICS. 

In monarch realms, in days of yore, 
When men the yokes of tyrants wore, 

And wore them but too well, 
A virgin woke to life and light. 
And quickly found t' assert her right, 

The hand of William Tell ! 

That Patriot strove, witli vig'rous strength. 
Her foes to conquer, — but, at length. 

Poor Tell was trampled on ; 
For friends she sought the wide world round. 
Nor sought in vain, — ere long she found 

Columbia's Washington ! 



22 



Successfully her flag was raised 

'Mid songs, and shouts of " God be praised," 

And here it waveth yet, 
That " flaunting flag of Liberty ;" 
Long may its stripes unfurled be 

O'er Freedom's coronet ! 

But hark ! whence come those shouts and cheers? 
They hail a maiden that appears : 

'Tis one of sportive tricks, 
'Tis Freedom's daughter, blithe and fair, 
With wanton eyes and flowing hair,— 

Her name is Politics. 

Why shout ye thus— ye rabble crew ? 
Alas ! ye know not what ye do ; 

This girl will prove your bane : 
For wrangles, riots, brawls she brings, 
Or like the fabled syren, sings 

A false, delusive strain. 

Oh, Liberty ! why give such scope 
To Politics ; she fans our hope, 

But she destroys it too ; 
She wakes Ambition from his sleep. 
But only his roused soul to steep, 

In faults of darkened hue ! 



2?> 



THE SPIRIT OF THE HILL. 

• A MID-DAY DREAM. 

It was an August noon : 
The burning sun shot forth his fiercest rays, 
The fields, the trees, the brook seemed all a blaze, — 

All nature seemed to swoon ; 
O ! then some sylvan bow'r were quite a boon ! 

A cooling shade I spied ; 
The listless trees their sun-warmed branches dropped 
In moody silence — under one I stopped — 

And ihere resolved to hide. 
Close to the rippling brook's meand'ring tide. 

1 laid me on the sod ; 
Weary, and warm, and sad, I there reclined, — 
Weary in body, and weary in mind, 

And soon began to nod. 
Until at last I slept upon the clod ! 

I slept — I dreamed ; — the dream 
Was gladness all ; bright fancy soared aAvay, 
And took her flight to scenes all loved and gay, 

Where wealth and splendour gleam, 
And fair forms flitted in a constant stream. 



24 



Methought a fairy girl, 
In feature mild as budding May, 
Yet sprightly as the dashing sun-lit spray, 

With waving hair and flowing curl, 
Set my fond head in one continued whirl ! 

She was a being made 
For purest, holiest, fondest, highest love ; 
She drew my thoughts from this world far above, 

And all unconscious, bade 
Me weave a garland with a golden braid. 

O'er her pure brow I placed, 
In fancy, this imaginary wreath ; — . 
Inhaled the perfume of her nectar breath, 

And viewed her — graced 
With rarer charms than artist ever traced ! 

Tremblingly I did snatch 
Another glance at beauty's fairy queen. 
And thought the ever twinkling stars serene, 

Might a new brightness catch, 
From eyes, of which I ne'er had seen the match ! 

Now she stood before me ! 
In all her loveliness she stood arrayed ; 
I strove to speak — half frantic, half afraid ! 

Alas ! it could not be — 
liDoke — and solved was the mystery ! 



25 



Yet that dream haunts me still ; 
An hazy mist of doubt hangs o'er my brow, 
Perplexing and harassing even now, 

As when, by that sweet rill, 
I slept, and saw the Spirit of the Hill. 



WHY ART THOU SAD? 

Why art ihou sad ? has life no charms 

To win thee from thy gloom ? 
Are there no flow'rs in Love's bright wreath, 

To cheer thee with their bloom ? 

Oh, throw away these idle fears 

Of cold neglect and strife ! 
Dry all thy burning, wasting tears — 

Look kindlier on life. 

The world is not made up of hate. 

Of coldness and deceit ; 
Though silly misanthropes may prate. 

Life is not all a cheat. 

Tears cannot chase thy fears away, 

Nor sighs remove thy pain ; 
Then droop no longer thus, I pray — 

Be merry once again ! 



26 



Look up ! it is a joyous earth, 
This good old world of ours, — 

Smile on ! enjoy its scenes of mirth, 
And cultivate its flow'rs ! 

All nature woos thee to dismiss 

Thy melancholy lay ; 
She courts thee with her scenes of bliss, 

And asks thee to be gay. 

Kind friends are clustered round thee, too, 

Who strive to make thee glad ; 
Bland are their words, their hearts are true, 

Then say, why art thou sad ? 



.# 



27 



THE MYSTIC RIVER. 

There's a brightly lucent river 

Flowing gently, beauty-drest, 
And a thousand leaflets quiver 

In the breeze that courts its breast. 
Far on a hill its fountains leap, 

The grovelling world above ; 
The hill is Faith (sublimest steep), 

And the river's source is Love. 

And charming banks, all verdure-cl; d, 

On either hand are seen, 
Which render every bosom glad. 

With their lovely, fadeless green. 
These banks that bound the mystic stream 

Gladdening the Sage and Youth, 
And pleasing like a happy dream. 

Are types of Friendship and of Truth. 

Innumerable flowers give 

Their perfume to the gale, — 
Which the mild voyagers receive, 

As they travel down the vale. 
They serve to mark the calm delights 

That friendship can impart ; 
While Memory their impress writes 

On the tablet of the heart. 



2S 



On tlic river's bosom, ever 

There rests a peaceful shade, 
And its tranquil rest, oh ! never 

Can the giddy world invade ! 
There's no gloom in all its quiet, 

'Tis -with cheerful objects fraught — 
(It no man's been known to hiiy yet) 

'Tis the shade of chastened Thought. 

The limpid ripples as they play 

Forever there in glee, 
A likeness to the mind convey. 

Of the good man's Purity ; 
No darkened thoughts obscure the gleam, 

Of sunshine in his heart, 
But like the ripple on the stream. 

He gayly bears his part. 

There white sailed barques in safety glide, 

And reck nor shrouds nor rope ; 
Borne by the breeze, how calm they ride, — 

Those littles barques of Hope. 
The breeze is always ; though we feel 

Affliction's heavy rod. 
Its balmy touch our pain shall heal; 

— The breeze is the breath of God ! 



29 



Oil ! trace that river to its source ; 

With meek inquiry go, — 
See whence its glowing waters course, 

And whitherward they flow ; 
You'll find its springs are wells eterne, 

Its beauties never cease ; 
And, gliding down the stream, you'll learn, 

It is The River of Peace. 



A MELODY. 

INSCRIBED TO 



Tho' lost is the echo, and hushed is the sound 

Of voices familiar and true, 
We may yet hope for new friends, and prize them when 
found, 

As we prized those we formerly knew. 

For the heart that is lonely will other hearts beat, 

In an unison holy and pure, 
Where sorrows and joys alike fondly will meet, 

While feeling and life shall endure. 

Nor less will we value those joys that have fled, 

When newer emotions are felt, 
Cut recur to them freely whenever we tread 

Throujrh the hulls where their brightness once dwelt. 



30 



WHERE IS GOD? 

Vain doubter, cease thy sophistry ! 
An argument like this 

Can have no weight ; 
Seek not to take a^-ay (what's nought to thee) 
My soul's most perfect bliss — 

My Faith's estate. 

I cannot lose that firmest hope 
Infixed on Heaven's goal ; 

That holy thought, 
Where visions of a purer future ope : 
I cannot think my soul 

Must come to nought. 

Thy reason cannot grasp the plan ? 
No, feeble mortal, no ! 

Thou canst not trace 
The common mysteries you daily scan. 
In their o'or-wondrous glow, 

On Nature's face ! 

A simple blade of grass, to thee 
A miracle ns grand 

As yon bright star. 



31 

That is but otie of an eternity, 
Over the sea and land, 

Glim'ring afar ! 

Why grows the grass ? why shines the star V 
Thou canst not say 'tis chance — 

Thy reaso7i's bare ; 
Thy fettered reason doth 'gainst reason jar ! 
It cannot be perchance, — 

'Tis God is there ! 

Or pluck the fruits, or view the garnered grain, 
Regard the glorious sun. 

The moon so fair. 
Or see the earth drink in the falling rain ; 
In each, and every one. 

Is God not there? 

I stoop to take the gentle flow'rs. 
Whose fragrance, mildly sweet, 

Perfumes the air ; — 
The blossoms Nature in profusion showers 
E'en at our very feet, — 

And God is there ! 



When the bright rainboAV spans the sky, 
rgeous liucs 
Beyond compare ; 



I love its gorgeous liucs 



'32 



And as I sec it tlioro, and ponder, whi/ ? 
My mnraiurs it subdues — 

For God is there! 

Turn where in Nature's wide domain 
I will, each step I've trod, 

The proofs are there, 
My hopeful aspirations are not vain, — 
The ruling hand of God 

Is everywhere ! 

Vain doubter, cease thy sophistry ! 
An unbelief like tJiine 

Is desolate ; 
I cannot lose my soul's best fealty, 
The living hope divine. 

My Faith's estate ! 



33 



FORGIVE AND FORGET. 

Revenge ! what petty strifes are thine ! 

How blind thy rage, thy acts how fierce ! 
Oh ! for a spark of love divine, 

Thy stony, reckless heart to pierce. 
And cause this glowing trutli to sliinc ; — 
That happier would thy countless vot'ries live. 
If tliey but knew that blessed word — forgive, 
And knowing, left it not defer'd : 

Aye ! that were nobler ! nobler far, 
Than w ending by a deed or word, 

A fellow-man, whose guiding star 
A moment from its spliere has err'd. 
And straight returned. Therefore forgive, — and yet. 
Do not forgive him only, but forget ! 



34 



A DAY IN THE COUNTRY. 

Free ! — Free in the country a day to rove : — 
Free, those noble old hills to mount, 
To drink from out the gushins: fount 

That springs from the rocks in the shady grove, 

Where many a gladsome carol I wove. 

In days of youth. What pleasing thoughts 
Does Memory -waft me of those gay sports 

Which lightened the heart in those hours of love, 

When care Avas unknown, and joy came as free, 
As the breeze of the morn, when it played 

With each little flower — each leaf on the tree, 
And each little bud with a kiss betrayed. 

There's yet Joy in the country, but ah ! wo is me. 
What a tax on the heart old Time has laid ! 



35 



SONG— ONCE UPON A TIME. 

Oh ! once upon a time. I knew a fairy little belle, 
And skipped with her in playful mood adown the flow'ry 

dell, 
And plucked with her the daisies fair — and I remember 

well 

The sunny locks that flowingly upon her young neck 

feU— 

Once upon a time. 

I remember that I called her then my "little gipsy- 
queen," 
And ceded her a bright domain — my father's cottage- 
green ; 
We sat in state on summer nights and watched the 

changing scene 
The clouds assumed, that flitted by, the stars and ua 
between — 

Once upon a time. 

Full many a crown of ivy-wood and roses wild 1 wove, 

And placed the wreath her temples o'er — the temples of 
young Love; 

When running to salute my Queen, how vainly oft I 

strove. 
As springing, from my arms she tore, and bounded 

through the grove — 

Once upon a time ! 



36 



A stately woman now is she, my Gipsy-Queen of old, 

And I a witliered bacliclor, ■who then was young and bold ; 

Yet often doth my fancy roam, unbridled, uncontrolled, 

To those dear haunts we visited — where we so gayly 

strolled — 

Once upon a time ! 



ROSALIE; 

or, THE bachelor's blighted hopes. 

You ask me why I've never wed — 
And you, and others, oft have said 

'Twas wrong. 
Now as you have a reason sought, 
I'll give it ; nor it needs in short 

Be long. 

I loved a maid of beauty rare ; 
And that I loved her well, I dare 

Confess ; 
Of her I asked (in days of yore) 
A trustful heart ; I asked no more — 

No less ! 



37 

" Be mine," I said, tho' half afraid, 
" Be mine for ever, dearest maid, 

Be true ; 
Together let us live — and die, 
For ask no happier lot would I — 

Would you?" 

Oh ! had you heard her strive to speak, 
And had you seen upon her cheek 

The glow, 
And seen the tear-drop in her eye. 
While my fond heart did beat, now high, 

Now low ; — 

You would have dreamed that I had won, 
And that our lives should onward run 

In joy ; 

But soon to speak the maid began, 
She told me I was not her man, 
My boy ! 

" I cannot wed thee, Fred," she cried, 
" Seek thou some other, worthier bride, 

And yet 
Thou happily mayst ever live ; 
My seeming cruelty forgive — 

Forget !" 



38 



Then dared I never ask again 
The hand of maiden fair ; and vain 

The thrall 
Of voices soft — bewitching eyes ; — 
For I was doomed so high to rise — 

TofaU! 



A STARLIGHT EVENING. 

How calm and lovely look to-night 

The stars from out their depths of blue ; 

Though oft I've gazed upon their light, 
Their beauty seems forever new. 

How peerless, chaste, and modest they ! 

Fit emblems of the pure in heart, 
Who keep their good deeds from the day, 

Nor boast the aid that they impart. 

The heavenly stars that twinkle now. 
Rejoice to shine on scenes of peace. 

While shine at every noisy roip, 

The flaming stars of the star police ! 



39 



GRUMBLING. 

Oh ! for a life of peace, 
And oh ! for spirits light, 
When discontent shall cease. 
And when, from morn till night, 

We shall not hear 

With weary ear. 
This grumbling, grumbling, grumbling. 

Better take things easy ; 
Better far be quiet ; 
Better let life please ye, 
Than ever make a riot. 

With bell-like tongue. 

Where nought is rung. 
But grumbling, grumbling, grumbling. 

Be content with your lot. 
Be pleased with your fellows ; 
Whether lucky or not. 
Don't pufF like a bellows ! 

With mind serene, 

Shun spite and spleen; — 
Stop grumbling, grumbling, grumbling. 



40 

If you try it a year, 
With philosophy true. 
Take my promise sincere, 
'Twill yoiu: Knug renew ; 

And never again. 

In doleful strain. 
Will you be grumbling, grumbling. 

Then for a life of peace ! 
Then for a happy {:\ce ! 
For discontent will cease, 
And joy shall grow apace ; 

We shall not hear. 

With weary ear. 
This grumbling, gnunbling. grumbling. 



41 



TO ELIZABETH. 

A tribute springs, my gentle friend, 

Forth from my heart of hearts, to thee ; 

To thee my thoughts, unbidden, tend. 
Where kindest thouglits alone should be. 

If ever worth command our praise. 

Then should the meed for tliee be sung; 

Then should regard, in tuntful lays, 
Be borne to thee from many a tongue. 

Always kind words hast thou to give, 
Which ever fall with silv'ry voice, 

Whose music tones forever live 
Within those hearts it bids rejoice. 

And sure am I that lovelit smile 
That sweetly lingers on thy lip. 

Was stolen from some blissful isle, 
Where fairies light o'er flowers trip ! 



Kind thoughts, and wishes fond, for all, 
Are garnered in thy bounteous heart, 

Nor ever can the store be small, 
Though each receive an ample part. 



42 



The holiest wish that friendship feels, 
Should ever greet a heart like thine ; 

Accept the tribute that reveals, 

In heartfelt words, the wish that's mine : 

May purest joy, in every hour. 
Be thine until thy latest breath, 

And Heaven its kindest bounties shower 
On thee and thine, Elizabeth ! 



THE FORESTER'S APPEAL. 

A better new home ! say, oh where shall we find it ? 

Our dearly loved homestead the green willows near ; 
A thousand fond ties to our hearts firmly bind it, — 

A thousand fond charms to our souls make it dear. 

Another abode shall we seek o'er the mountains ? 

Desert the loved places so long we have known ? 
Oh no ! let us leave not the clear sparkling fountains, 

And bright, glowing hills of this land of our own. 

Let us leave not the dwellings, the bright lawns before 
them, 

The tall waving trees that have long met our view, 
For hallowed the life-spell that memory iiings o'er them, 

Then stifle the wish that would bid them adieu ! 



43 



Are wc restless, and weary of this dear dominion, 
The brightness that round it hath cast such a glow ? 

Oh ! clip from your Fancy her air-given pinion, 
And fly not thus wildly, but think ere ye go ! 

Aye, think of your fathers that sleep here beside you ; 

Their graves, and their lands would ye wish to forsake? 
Oh ! think of the griefs that may haply betide you. 

In regions remote from your own happy lake. 

This garden your sires all their lives were adorning, 
And will ye not cherish their memories now ? 

Must laughter invade their green mounds of mourning, 
And their long-peaceful graves be upturned by the 
plough ? 

Oh ! quit not your homes for the unfeeling stranger 
To trample the relics of love under feet ; 

If you go, you will haply meet hardships and danger, 
But here your whole life-course is even and sweet. 

Then seek not to better this happy condition. 
But in true Christian spirit look calmly above ; 

With Charity blend blessed Hope and contrition. 
And wait for that Home, in the bright realms of Love ! 



44 



C A JNl 1 L L O. 

Oamillo was touching- a willow again. 

In a laiulsoapeho just had boon limning; 
And Viola, while loaning beside him, a strain 

Of Italia',*! own nwisie was hymning. 

His iHMU'il lie laid on his easel, and sighoil 

And he turnetl to the fair Viola, 
And vowed that his soul was o'erburdened ; and cried, 

'• Thou alone, dearest girl, can console her." 

'- Of my heart and its doubts, full faithful and true, 

A type is that weeping willow; — 
l\n- 1 droop like the tree, while bending to you. 

Are the arms of devoteil Camillo." 

And she laughed at the artist, and tosseii back her head. 
While gayly and free daneal her tresses; 

" I'm not sure,"she I'eplietl. " that your heart is wellread, 
In the feeling your tongue thus confesses.*' 

"Nay, say not. Viola, you ever can doubt. 
Dearest one. that I tenderly love you; 

For I vow by the stai'S that from heaven shine out — 
l?y the heaven's blue vault that's above you; 



That ne'er will 1 rest till you grant thut uiy love, 
Not unheeded by you is now burning ; 

Then break not my peace, but oh ! quickly remove 
All the doubts that my head are now turning." 

Then sadly he paused, and she saw what the heart 

Of Camillo was truly expressing ; 
All nature and love, and not falsehood and a«J;, 

His tongue had been freely confessing. 

Then sweetly she smiled, and she gave him to know, 
Not by words, but by Love's sign magnetic, 

That he, of all otliers that dwelt here below, 
Was her loving heart's only eclectic. 

Oh ! she could no longer be coquettish then. 
While his suit her Camillo was pressing; 

And she vowed in her heart he was truest of men, 
When he her fair brow was caressing. 

Then they gave themselves up to the joy of the scene. 
And they laughed at the weeping willow ; 

And ever since then, the fair Viola has been 
The true, loving wife of Camillo. 



4G 



A TENDER SUBJECT. 

TluTo is a bird of oonioly look. 

That jiots in many bivUs : 
A shrtuio it surolv is, from which 

The tondor heart recoils. 

And hath this harmless binl no he;\rt. 
That tluis she should be stricken ? 

If not a he«rt, why then the plmtse, 
" As tender as a chicken ?" 

What makes us tender — whence the glow 

l>f sympathy. 1 pray V 
'Tis frvMu the heart : — if tre have hearts, 

Then pritha\ why not they? 

If men and chickcits Wth have hearts, — 
You've ijrautetl it — ilon't scv^wl — 

Why then our course towanls them is, 
1 do assert, most foul. 

Then kill her not I i\^( s;uistii\l 

With omt'Ui and fricvl eggs, 
rsor kill a Knng with a heart 

And (like to man'^ two U^ ! 



47 



C IJ 1 B N O ? 

JiOiii,' spcoclics in Congress, 

.Short walks in 1 {road way, 
Champagne all the evening, 

Real j)ain tlic next day ; 
Dry sermons, w«t mornings. 

And wet all the week, 
Bad coughs and had cofTee, 

And hoots that will creak ; 
Sour faces, "sweet novels," 

Tall hills, a short jjurse. 
And " hlessed" old maids, for 

Whom you care not a "curse;" 
And friends you can't use when 

You ask for a loan, oh. 
What is tile una of 'em — 

Do tell, — Ombnnoi 



4S 



BEAUTY AND WORTH. 

A TRIBUTE TO THE LADIES OF 

Ye are fair, ye are fair as the brightest and best 
E'er read of in romance, or heard of in story, — 

Believe me, I connt myself ever most blest, 

When nearest that home in which always I glory. 

For I dwell, for I dwell 'noath the light of yonr smiles, 
That gladden the heart, and a glow lend to pleasure, 

And I've felt that your presence ne'er fails to beguile 
The woes of the heart-sick — dark sorrow's full meas- 
ure. 

Could I lend, could I loud a bright hue to the bow. 
That smiles in the sky when the shower's departed, 

Would its colors and tintings more charmingly glow ? 
Would it less lustrous seem were the hue not im- 
parted ? 

It were vain, it were vain for the lak>r of man 

To improve what the Deity's wisdom hath wrought, 

For wherever His works we in wonderment scan, 
The invention of man its own folly is taught. 



49 



Thus the lay, thus the lay of my worshipful muse, 
Though its echo were heard through the realms of the 
earth, 

No new charm in your warm hearts could ever infuse, 
Or render more perfect your beauty and worth ! 



CHANGES. 

Oh ! hast thou never watched the smile 
That plays on youth's full, rosy face, 

And sighed, that after years shall bring 
A tear-drop in its place ? 

That the bright rose shall wither, too, 
Which now adorns the rounded cheek, 

And that which is all health and glow. 
Shall be all wan and bleak ? 

Alas ! that Time should consummate 

Such changes in our nether sphere. 
To make life all a dreary waste 

To many a dweller here. 

I've seen the maiden, young and pure. 

Move gayly on to cheer and bless 
Fond hearts that loved her ; and a day hath made 

Those hearts a wilderness. 



50 



I've soon the bright-eyed, prattling boy, 

Whose little heart beat joyously, 
Cut clov\-u by that dread mower. Death, 

E'en in his sportive ebo. 

I've seen the wealth that ycavs amassed 
In one short moment swept away : 

And names it gilded and made great. 
Have passed ii\to deeay. 

The friends we oherisheil years ago — 

Those whom ^ve pledgeil in friendship's vow, 

Ne'er to forsake and ne'er forget, 
Alas !, where are they now '? 

The lonely bowei-s we sought at eve. 

From whieh nought eould our hearts estrange. 
Have long since fallen a prey to Time, 

A monument to Change. 

And tfiou must ehange — nay, do not sigh — 
Thou. too. must ehai\ge thy worldly guise, 

For features, forms, and scenes, that are 
Far brighter in the skies ! 

Then while regretting all the change 

That years have made, and years disclose, 

Ne'er fail to set>k. with eye of Faith. 
A refuo-e from thy woes. 



51 



THE BATTERY. 

A STRAY LKAF FROM LAST S(tm.MKr'm rf)f.rAOE. 

With what a liost 
Of fond associations art thou linked, 
Oil mcm'ry's page unblotted and distinct, — 

The city's boast. 

How sh.' n I sing, 
VVitli that ini})artial zoal thy nani(! inspires. 
How sing the praises that an Imndred lyres 

So well might ring. 

Often — and long 
Have I been held hero by the evening air. 
As if some magic power floated there. 

Unseen- — tho' strong. 

At parting day, 
Ere yet the glowing sun had sunk to rost, 
I've watched the noMo bay catch on iiti breas' 

The dying ray. 

Full many a sail. 
Prom the fliin distance T have seen come near, 
Au(] noble barfjucs ptit off, and disappear. 

Borne on the ^^alc. 



fiv» 



And 1 have felt 
The bland and balmy power of each scene, 
To make the porturbateil soul serene, 

And passion melt. 

To such a place 
Retreat I from the world and it^? alarms ; — 
Lov'd spot ! no space can rob me of thy charms, 

No time eiFace. 

For memory, 
True to our nature, oft will take her flight, 
And many recollections fond and bright, 

Brinir back from thee ! 



ry'A 



BRIGHT WINE AND BRIGHT EYES. 

I heard a loud song at the midnight hour, 
And I listened to catch the sound ; — 

The revellers pledged to the wine-king's pow'r, 
And the pledge went merrily round. 

" Sing to the sparkling and ruby-red wine, 

Let Bacchus preside o'er us now ; 
Of the bountiful vine, a wreath let us twine, 

Let it rest on his rubicund brow." 

The song of the revellers died away. 
And they went to their fevered sleep. 

When I heard a lay that will last for aye, 
For its fountain was pure and deep. 

It came from the heart, and it seemed to glide 

With a smooth, melodious flow, 
Till it filled my soul with a pleasing tide 

Of the fancies of " long ago." 

For I thought of the blooming village maids. 
Whose lastrous eyes looked forth in glee, — 

How I wove them garlands of flow'ry braids. 
And tuned for them my minstrelsy. 



54 



I thought of the days when a sister's voice 
Hath soothed me when I'd faintly sigh, 

And how oft she has bidden my heart rejoice, 
With the light of her beaming eye. 

And I thought me of hours when trusting hearts 

Were cemented by fondest ties, 
And the gentle emotions that love imparts, 

Ever issued from sparkling eyes. 

Then no chaplet for Bacchus can I entwine, 

And I like not his favored allies ; 
Not for me the bright glow of the ruby wine. 

But the glow of bright azure eyes ! 



THE DEAD. 

Tread lightly ! 
Disturb not the silence profound 
That reigneth unbroken around 

Where the shrouded dead repose ; 
But come, and their histories learn, 
As Tve gaze on the str.ne and the urn, 
By the beaming moon that glows 
So brightly ! 

Talk gently : 
Whispers only should here be heard. 
Here where the mournful leaves are stirred 

By the breath of the plaintive wind. 
Sighing a dirge for txiose that sleep 
Beneath the sod in silence deep. 
Here ever the moaning wind 
Sighs faintly ! 

While blending 
Harmoniously soft and low, 
Here angel-voices ever flow 

In sweet and whispered tone ; 
And spirits walk in gentle mien, 
That o'er the graves, by men unseen. 
By each hallowed mound and stone 
Are bending. 



50 



And daily, 
At morn, at the calm noon, at eve. 
Come moirrnfiil friends to weep, to grieve 

For the loved ones here entombed ; 
To think of by-gone, happy hours. 
That time when fond affection s Ww'rs 
By their presence were illumed 
So g^yly- 

How glowing! 
How brilliant does this marble seem. 
Its proud height peering in the gleam 

Of the steady lunar light : 
'Tis over one who early died, 
"Whose bosom haply swelled with pride. 
And whose stream of life full bright 
"Was flowing. 

Bend lowly ; 
Tell of an old man's spirit flown. 
This humble mound and modest stone ; — 

(Fitting tablet for the old.) 
Come any mourners here to weep ? 
How many hearts the impress keep 
Of those truths the old man told 
So holy? 



57 



How lonely ! — 
Here the grave of a warrior stern, 
There a beloved husband's urn ; 

Here slecpeth a fond young wife ; 
Shadows fall from the cypress tall, 
Casting gloom o'er the graves of all ; 
Here endeth all human strife — 
Here only. 

Borne slowly 
With solemn tread are the wept-for dead. 
And the sigh is heard, and the tear is shed, 

As they sink into the ground ; 
Homeward, homeward the mournful train. 
Weeping, depart ;— weeping in vain 
For the dead beneath the mound 
Lain lowly. 

The vernal 
And bright fields, and the lovely flow'rs 
Which aye make glad this world of ours. 

The cold dead no more may see ; 
But care comes not to them again, — 
They rest from labor and from pain, 
And that peaceful rest sliall be 
Eternal ! 



58 

Oh ! how vain 
All earthly things, if earth alone 
Could claim the halo that is thrown 

Around love's living altars, — 
Its brightness destined soon to fly, 
When they that woke it coldly lie 
Where each emotion falters, 
Nor lives again ! 

But the grave 
Receives the ashes, while the soul. 
Freed from it^ bondage, wins the goal 

Where •'■' .he weary are at rest." 
The Saviour there will welcome those 
Thus parted from their earthly woes :- 
Dwelling ever with the blest 
He died to save. 



59 



LIFE A SHADOW. 

Ye trembling shadows on the midnight wave, 
Whose sombre hues mysterious meet mine eye, 
Men well may ask you, trembling shadows, why 

Ye wear a hue so dark, a look so grave ? 
So silently ye touch the ebbing tide. 
Ye seem a warning to the men of pride : 

Well may ye awe the stout hearts of the brave. 
For they shall learn, though glories circle now 
Around the warrior's stern and war-scarr'd brow, 

That silently as yours their shades shall lie, 

When they to earth consigned, no more shall vie 
In deeds of arms and Conflict's might sublime: 

Ye teach Ambition when he strives to climb. 

That Life's a trembling shadow on the wave of Time. 



60 



LITTLE ESTELLE. 

Little Estelle, he v pawing fair thou art ! 
Ne'er may the wiles of vice ensnare thy heart ; 
But virtue e'er be thy magical spell, 
Little Estelle. 

Intelligence beams from thy hazel eyes, 
And thy fair young cheek with the lily vies ; 
And how modest thou art thy blushes tell, 
Little Estelle. 

For a holy thing is a maiden blush, 
And up to the clioek as the blood doth rush, 
If telleth where truth and purity dwell. 
Little Estelle. 

Merrily trill thy sweet, impulsive song ; 
But keep a pure heart 'mid the heedless throng,- 
Trust not that heart on the world-billow's SAvell, 
Little Estelle! 

So shalt thou e . er be lored and caressed, 
So shalt thou be by the virtuous blessed, 
So with thy peace shall it ever be well. 
Little Estelle. 



61 



Then after-years sliall find thee still a child, 
With modest manners, thoughts serene and mild, 
And changed in nothing, save in beauty's spell — 
Peerless Estelle! 



GRIEF. 

Why doth grief weigh down the heart, 
Wliy the tear in Love's bright eye ? 

Why do friends in sorrow part, 

Whence the.falt'ring voice, the sigh? 

Know yc not that life is giv'n 
For a more than worldly lot ? 

Tho' the spirit may be riv'n, 
Fate the soul controlleth not ! 

Lover, check the flowing tear, 
Sad one, chase thy grief away ; 

Spend not thus the fleeting year. 
But once more be blithe and gay. 

Loving friends, why part ye thus ? 

Ye shall meet in joy again ; 
Tho' awhile your smiles be lost, 

Part net with such heavy pain. 



62 



Joyously, and free from grief, 
Laugh at fate, whose angry rod 

Parts friends on earth — an absence brief, 
And you shall meet again — in God ! 

Dreamer, sigh not that thy dreams 

Have in reality no form ; 
Rather wonder why their gleams 

E'er had pow'r thy mind to charm. 



POOR BOB. 

When I am dead, is there a heart 
Will feel a bitter, aching smart ? 
In any eye will tear-drops start. 

For Bob ? 

When my free spirit soars away, 

Will friends to my lone earth-bed stray, 

And weave a melancholy lav, 

For Bob ? 

Many there are, I know, who could 
Bethink them kindly, if they would. 
Of pleasure in some joyous mood, 

With Bob. 



63 



And in the fount of Friendship placed^ 
(Were not the memory effaced,) 
Something of good there might be traced 

To Bob. 

I know that some who now profess 
A world of heartfelt friendliness, 
Will say, with mocking hollowness, 

"Poor Bob." 

The world will be as madly gay, 
The storms of life as wildly play — 
And all who knew me simply say, 

" Poor Bob." 

And Death, that darkens all of earth, 

That closes Tears alike, and Mirth, 

Will only prove a second birth 

To Bob. 



64 



A VOICE FROM THE SPIRIT-LAND. 

Weep not, sister ! though they laid me 
In the cold and narrow grave, 

I am happy now in heaven, 

Near the Lamb who died to save. 

In the greenwood when thou roamest, 

I will visit thee again ; 
Thou shalt hear my voice at even, 

But it shall not cause thee pain. 

When thou sleepest on thy pillow, 

I will hover near thy head, 
Pleasant dreams of me shall haunt thee — 

Sister dear — I am not dead ! 

Weep not, sister ! soon I'll see thee ; — 
Dry each tear, suppress each sigh, 

We shall meet and love each other, 
In the bright and fadeless sky ! 



65 



PLEASANT HOURS. 



INSCRIBED TO 



We've met but twice, and brief the hours 

That we together passed, 
Yet would 1 fondly, truly hope, 

They may not be the last. 

For Mem'ry will delight to twine, 
In Fancy's golden bowers, 

A flowery wreath that will recall 

Those pleasant, happy hours. 

Whene'er I think of those short hours, 

Regrettingly I sigh, — 
How fleeting are the joys of life. 

How swift the moments fly ! 

But still bright hope will gild the thought, 
With her own fadeless flow'rs, 

That we, in many a year to come. 

Shall yet pass pleasant hours. 



(56 



THE LITTLE BRIDGE OVER THE BROOK. 

Though youth has lied, and in the lapse of years 

Association's fondest ties are gone ; — 
Though age steals on, with all its cares and fears, 

And each loved voice has lost its mellow tone — 
Remembrance still a brightness sheds around, 

On scenes which wore to me a happy look : 
A wood, a lake, a tree, or school-house ground ; 

But more than all, the bridge across the brook. 

When mem'ry leads me back to boyhood's hour, 

My throbbing heart assumes a milder beat. 
And then I own fond recollection's power, 

The present of its wrinkling cares to cheat ; 
And wandering back with uncontrolled will, 

I live again those hours in shady nook ; 
I hear again the murmur of the rill, 

I see again the bridore a<;ross the brook. 

How often when the shades of evening fell 

On leaf, and flower, and tree, and dome, 
Within the quiet and sequestered dell, 

Would I the little cottage leave to roam. 
With book in hand, among the loved old trees ; 

And when the page grew dark, I'd close the book, 
And seek the bridge to catch (lie evening breeze, 

And read a fairy tale within the brook. 



67 



How many scenes have passed before me there, 

Of every phase in life's quick changing round ; 
And yet in all my youth I can't tell where, 

So much of joy, so little grief was found. 
Though vine-clad hills and mossy dells I've seen, 

That captive all imaginations took. 
Dearer to me than all the rest has been 

That little bridge across the running brook. 



THE ARTIST'S WISH. 

1 would thy likeness trace, 
In every changing mood. 

So wholly is thy grace 

In all my thoughts imbued. 

I'd paint thee when thou'rt sad. 
And canst not choose but sigh ; 

I'd paint thee when thourt glad, 
And joy lights up thine eye. 

I'd paint thee when all mild 
Thou lean'st on Age to lean ; 

I'd paint thee when the child 
Looks up to thee in turn. 



6S 

I'd paint tliee when, alone, 
Thon sing'st a pensive song, 

And when thy pow'r is sliown, 
Amid some glit'ring throng. 

I'd ]»aint thee when at morn 
Thou court'st the fragrant air, 

And when, the daylight gone, 
Thou kncel'st in holy pray'r. 

O, life-long were the task 

To paint thee, charming elf — 

Would that I dared to ask 
But to possess i/n/self f 



69 



TO CAROLINE. 

Not in the pompous halls 
Where beauty's vaunted power is felt ; — 

Not in proud kingly courts, 
Where princes oft subdued have knelt, 

Dwells there a maid or queen, 

Whose look, or mind, or mien, 
Has half the dignity of thine, 

My Caroline. 

Oh, borrowed lustre gilds 
The glittering shrines where they're adored, 

Or else their beauty were 
By all the world of love ignored : 

But beauty in thy heart. 

And not the borrowed art, 
This is the charm of thine, 

My Caroline. 

To call thee graceful were 

To wrong the truth, and love, and thee, 

For thou art more than tins. 

For thou, oh (Caroline, shall ever be, 
Not graceful called, but Grace. 

When shall I see thy face. 

And those bright eyes of thine, 

My Caroline. 



70 



THE IDEAL POET -LAND. 

The nine arc their garlands wreathing 

Around my tranquil brow, 
And their blandest tones are breatliing 

To ray list'ning senses now. 

I live in a land of fairy thought, 

And a delicate life is mine, 
For a sparkling ray of the light I've caught, 

That gleams in this realm divine, 

I listen with rapture and mild delight 
To the night -wind's pensive plaint, 

And I own not the powT of a worldly blight, 
Or the poison of earthly taint. 

But all within is calmness and peace. 

And all without is gladness, 
For the fairy troupe whose smiles never cease, 

Dispel every feeling of sadness. 

I seem to be borne o'er pellucid seas. 

By an imperceptible air, 
That wafts me on to a mansion of ease. 

In a palace supremely fair. 



71 



Tlii.s palac-o is ii;(iriu:;oi>iisly over-wrought:, 
With wreaths of a golden strand; — 

The palace is Mind, whose realm of Thought 
Is the Ideal Poet-Land ! 



ON THE DEATH OE A CHILD, 



A simple flow'ret brightly glowing, 

A gentle riv'let near it flowing — 

One day we sec as the fields we tread ; 

Next day the stream is dried, the flower dead. 

The bed of tlie brook soon is missing. 
And the morning's dew sweetly kissing 
Fresh verdure that springcth in gladness. 
Yet yielding to us nought but sadness. 

For the lovely flower and rippling brook, 
Wore a simple, gay, and happy look. 
We mourn to lose the familiar scene, 
Though the fields still look as bright and green 



72 



'Twas thus we gazed on our tender child, 
While as a blossom of spring she smiled — 
Making glad our hearts with her simple play, 
And seeming more lovely every day. 

God spake, and called her from earth away, 
To bloom in the glow of endless day ; 
And like the dried brook, whose loss we mourn, 
Hope's flow too, was checked, joy's stream was gone. 

Yet as the verdure that quickly grew. 
Bedecked with the morning's pearly dew, 
Joy springs anew in our hearts to know 
She lives in heaven, though lost below. 



HARMONY. 

Delightful, at the twilight hour, 
In Nature's cheerful haunts, 

To see the gay-plumed songsters play, 
And list their plaintive chants. 

The stirring leaves, by zephyr kissed, 

^olian whispers breathe. 
Softly, as if they conscious are, 

A stranger is beneath. 

While many a sparkling brooklet flows 

Right merrily along ; 
Before the eye the ripples dance — 

The heart receives their song. 

There is a glee-song in the woods, 
And all may hear its tone. 

Can they but trace the path aright, 
To find the wood-nymph's throne : 

But only to the pure in heart 

Is her dominion free, 
And others cannot find the place, 

Nor dream where it may be. 



u 



There, every sound that strikes the ear, 
And all that meets the eye. 

Seems planned of God to give to man 
The love of Harmony. 

And oft, when sweetest voices sing, 

There is a mild control. 
That every other sense subdues, — 

Whose music fills the soul. 

And oh ! the mystic music here, 
Which this pure joy imparts, 

Is that subtile chorus of the few — 
The harmony of hearts! 



75 



SOUHAITS D'AMI. 



Oh ! tranquil be your passing life, 

Full tranquil and full long ; 
And may your love, devoid of strife. 

Be smooth as flowing song. 
And thankful be your youthful heart 

For every earthly joy. 
And may each joy your days impart. 

Be free from all alloy. 

Oh ! cheerful be your every thought, 

As smiles shall light your way. 
And may your friendships all be wrought 

With charms which ne'er decay. 
And calmly may you pass from earth, 

With hope, and not with fears; 
When may the smiles which own your worth. 

Be changed to friendly tears. 



7(\ 



Til 10 PASSIN(J IMIK KZE, 

GtMitly, ^icontly. passing brooze, 
Waft tho si^njj 1 jjive to tl\«e 

To lior who is, of all tho ^Yorhl, 
A wovlil of wovth ami li>;ht to mo ! 

I>t>ftly, iloftlv, Moavo arouml 

I lor olassio hnnv a garlaml fair; 

A»ul print, oh kimliy, j»ai«sini>* hreoxo, 
Tho swootost, purest kisssos thoro! 

Softly, softly, pivss those lips. 

\Vhtv«o wral huo I lovo to soo, 
Thtv sho'U not rv^fuso tho bliss — 

' The holy bliss — ^doaitxi to me ! 

I .iijhtly. lisihtly. towh the eheelc. 

The silken hair ilo (hon ean\^, 
Ami sti^vl fv»r mo. oh passu i\sf hreeje, 

Oi that bright haix* a single tn^s^s. 

Adieu, lulieii, vd\ pasiung bree«e. 

I'll longing wait for bivath of thine. 
To bring u»e l»{U'k svuue token of 

My swivt, uw lH\\\ite\>us Caroline ! 



77 



13ALLAJ3.— THE OLD MAM. 

I'm old and feeble ; ah ! many long years of care 
Have thus wrinkled my checks, and Avhitened my hair, 
Like an oak that is shrivelled — whose branches are bare. 
For they show that the Storm-King- has long revelled 
there ; 

I'm an old man, 

I'm a poor stricken remnant of years long since past — 

Not a single friend lingers — I've buried the last ; 

For my good wife has gone where Death's shadow is 

cast, 
And I'm tottering thitherward, too — failing fast; 

I'm an old man. 

'Neath the weight of o'er eiglity long years am I bent, 
And I feel that the flow of my life's nearly spent, 
And that naught now remains l)ut my sins to repent; 
But I do not repine, Tm content — quite content; 

I'm an old man. 

As I ever found this world with conflicts o'er-rife, 
I'll rejoice in the hour that I'm ta'en from its strife; 
But I ask, for her sake whom I loved so in life, 
You'll prepare his last bed near tlie grave of his wife, 

For the old man. 



7S 



THE HEART'S YEARNINGS. 

In these long summer days how I sigh to be free 
From the turmoil and dust of the to^rn, 

And among the old trees whore the dark shadows lie, 
In a quiet nook sit me doAvn. 

Down in a nook where the glad rivulets play 

With a music all soft and low, 
And the songsters of air chirp the long day away, 

To the waterfiill's delicate flow. 

Where the music of Nature might lull me to rest, 
And the soft zephyr stealing around, 

Bring relief to my achings, and peace to my breast, 
As I lay on the sheen-covered ground. 

But toil, toil on, is the song I must sing. 

And I cannot claim respite, 
Till the mantling shadows of darkness bring 

Relief in the welcome night. 

But night, howe'er welcome its advent may be, 

Seems to wear in the city a frown. 
And still without hope do I sigh to be free 

From the turmoil and dust of the town. 



79 



Then toil, toil on, is the song I must sing, 

As I enter my wares and my goods, 
But I wish to the winds I could Book-Keeping fling, 

For ray heart is away in the woods ! 



HENRI; 

OR, THE FLOWER BY THE WAY-SIDE. 

A stout and stalwart youtli, I ween. 

Was Henri Roubillon ; 
He many a crown of laurel green 

In tournament had won. 

And many a fair and loving dame 

Had smiled full oft on him. 
And many a glass, in Henri's name, 

Had sparkled to the brim. 

The mothers sighed, as daughters blushed, 

To hear his praises sung ; 
While daughters' eyes betrayed, tho' hushed 

And silent was the tongue. 



so 

IJul lloiwi WM-^ :is IVt'o as air, 

And none I'ouKl sirm to win, 
Of all (lio niaiils inliabit thorts 

That littlo villauv in. 

^Vitlliu a iloil. ami h\ a wooil 

Quito hiiUlou from tho view. 
Within a doll a oottai^o stood, 

And tlioro dwolt prottv Suo. 

81io was a maid of motlost niion, 

And luildlv hoaniinu: ovos; 
Ai\d she to nianv swains had hoeii 

Tho oanso of lovolorn siii;lis. 

ISo tlunijiht of lovo had ovor tillod 

llcr heart with hope or foar; 
Hut swoot her nmrm'rinu," t'ojiu; she trilled, 

l*'ull winsome, blithe, and eheer. 

Hut swain and maid vo\inu; l.ovo betravixl, 
When least they tliouiiht it, too; 

With silken braid a bond ho made. 
'Twivt Henri and voung" 8ne. 

Henri's rovinj; heart had been 

I'nelaimixl vnitil the hour 
His beaiity-loving eye had soeu 

The ujodest wav-side tlo>YV. 



Ml 



He bade all other maids adieu, 
This one to "win and wear;" 

And sure am I, he could not woo 
Another one more fair. 



The richest rose from gay parterre, 
To charm has not the pow'r, 

That lingers gently round the fair 
And modest way-side flow r. 



82 



THE DEPARTURE 



We have met thee in joy, 

Where pleasures clustered brightly, 
And have heard thee discourse 
In tones full sweet and sprightly ; 
All thy pleasures were ours, all thy joys were our own, 
But we'll think of thee soon as a bird that hath flown. 

Must we lose thy sweet smile ? 

Wilt thou seek new embraces ? 
Alas ! what can beguile 

Our lone hearts for thy graces ? 
Like a flower transplanted — by strangers admired, 
Thou wilt bloom — but our garland's best gem has ex- 
pired. 

But go ! go seek pleasure, 

Where no kind hearts thou'lt find, 
Then, haply, thou wilt treasure 
The warm hearts left behind ; 
And shouldst thou tire of far-off scenes, in fancy turn, 
To where thy mem'ry lives in Friendship's sacred urn. 



83 



Adieu ! fair traveller ! 

Adieu ! and may the waters 
Be conscious that they bear 

One of earth's brightest daughters; 
And may the gentle gales in safety waft thee o'er, 
And bring thee safely back — never to leave us more ! 

I've read, in olden time. 

That for each dear absentee, 
A place at banquet was 

Reserved. — So keep we one for thee ! 
Tho' at the feast the bright and loved are seated nigh, 
No one of all that come, thy place can e'er supply ! 



S4 



U O V E . 

Celcstijvl hoi>e ! my sruidina: star ! 
The brightness grooti; me from afju", 

And lulls mv soul to rest ; 
The paitgs of Sv>rrv>w and of grief 
Beweath thy ray find sure relief. 

And leave my aching hreaist. 

Angol of ItoiI ! to man how dear I 
Thou h;ist the pow'r to soothe and ohoer 

The xrejury trav'ler s heart : 
As on thn>ugh life he Wars his way, 
Thy presenci? doth his grief allay, 

Doth e en a joy impart. 

'""osjuoiH^lito ! thou art no less ! 
Por all men fet^l thy gentleness, 

And all enjoy thy smile: 
How many are the scenes that owe. 
To thy o;vrcss their brilliant glow. 

And happiness the while. 

FritMid of the yomig ! of all the frigid ! 
All are thy subjects. aH commend. 

All are iipheld by thee ; 
O while 1 live, may *st thou ut ir n.;.»<. 
My l«^\st : but tessK^h me to believe 

In iJod s ekruitj ! 



85 



THE VICTIM OF CONSUMPTION. 



A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF WILLIAM H. BRASHER, 

FIRST PRESIDENT OF THE NEW-YORK 

SOCIETY OF LETTERS. 



I knew him well, and prized him for his worth,- 
Thc mildness of his manner made him dear ; 

He had for every joy a soul of mirth, 
For every sorrow of his friend, a tear. 

Just on the verge of manhood, ere its care 
Had mark'd a single furrow on his brow, 

Before its blighted hopes had made him wear 
A sadden'd look, or made his spirit bow ; 

His virtues many, and his faults were few, 
For all he did arose from motives pure; 

But who can always see dark error through, 
And safely ever his frail vessel moor ? 

The best men sometimes err ; I own my friend 
Was not from human errors wholly free. 

But if convinced of wrong, a promjjt amend 
He ne'er withheld, 'twas given willingly. 



86 



Beloved, held dear by all, wherever known ; 

The social circle, and the quiet scene. 
And happy fireside claimed him for their own, 

And twined his memory with evergreen. 

Fair Knowledge caressed him ; he was to her 

An ornament indeed — a busy son, 
"Who, early tanght her precepts to prefer. 

No laurels craved hut those for her sake won. 

When first I mot him, he was strong and hale, 
The glow of health was over his young cheek, 

lint ah ! that check ere long was wan and pale, 
The early victim of Consumption's freak. 

With feelings sad I watched the sure decay. 
Yet hoped he would not fivU, so young in years : 

The hope was vain — his spirit passed away, 
A theme for Virtue's prayer and Friendship's tears. 



87 



FRIENDSHIP'S ROSY BOWER. 

[Written by retiuest, upon the basis of the following sentence: — 
"When chance may bring your eye upon these lines, think of one 
in whose memory you have a pleasant dwelling; of one who loves 
lo entwine your name in wreaths of thought, and hang them upon 
the bower of Friendship, that when the cold frown of a heartless 
world makes his spirit sad, he may seek its heavenly shade; and in 
its fragrant air find a solace for every care."] 

When chance may bring your eye upon 

The lines which here I pen, 
There's one — (a constant friend of yours) 

I'd have you think of then ; 

Of one in whose fond mem'ry you 

A pleasant dwelling claim ; 
Of one who loves t' entwine in wreaths 

Of thought your cherished name : 

Of one who'll place those wreaths upon 
Pure Friendship's rosy bow'r, — 

That loved retreat, whose mem'ries sweet, 
Shall cheer his saddest hour. 

Oh ! when the heartless world shall frown, 

He'll seek its heavenly sliadc, 
And think how oft its music soft 

His heart hath happy made. 



ss 



And in its fragTont, balmy air. 

Oh ! erer let him find 
A solace rare for ererv care. 

That chasteneth his mind. 



I TOUCH THE HARP OXCE MORE. 



TO 



I touch the harp once more, 
Its strains are but for thee.— 

Soon will its sound be o'er. 
And hushed its minstrelsy. 

Then, lady, let thy smOe 
Inspire my humble pow'rs. 

Let happy sonsj^ besruile 

The present — ^passing hours. 

O, could I catch the glow. 
That sparkles in thine eye. 

And own the music-flow 
That lino^ers in thy si^h : 



89 

I well might claim the praise, 
You render to my song ; 

And oft my tribute-lays, 
Would willingly prolong. 

But no ! they have not known, 
The power to please so well, 

As the simplest pleasure-tone. 
That from thy lips e'er fell ! 

Then moulder, harp, for aye, 
Thy murm'ring charmeth not 

Thy power fades away, 
Thy music is forgot ! 



90 



THEY ARE PAST. 

The happy hours of buoyant youth, 

When tears and smiles were aptly blended, 
When Poetry, wed to Love and Truth, 

Went hand in hand ; alas ! are ended. 
No more the merry shouts are heard, 

That rent the air with wildsome blast; 
No more ! no more ! — each studied word 

Gives token now that they are past ! 

For as each playmate older grew, 

At slighter deeds he was offended, 
And angry words gave, when he knew 

That no offence could be intended ; 
Why has each friend so churlish grown ? 

Oh ! why has age such shadows cast 
O'er brows which once with kindness shone ! — 

Our youthful joys — why are they past ? 

The more we know of active life, 

I blush to own the imputation, 
The more are selfish schemings rife. 

The more we take to calculation ! 
We are no longer blithe or gay. 

To friends with us so gladly classed 
In boyish sports, — and all we say 

Of early scenes, is — they are past ! 



91 



THE SISTERS 



In years gone by, I knew 

Three sisters, young and fair ; 
I know them yet, as true 

And lovely as they were ! 

Though time has sped, the hue 
Of cheek is still as bright, 

And (I have marked that, too,) 
Their step is full as light ! 

And smiles play round the lip. 
And sparkle in the eye, 

Where dancing Love might sip 
Of charms that never die. 

For Virtue hath embalmed 
Their hearts with holy care, 

And eyes prove hearts so calmed. 
Remorse comes never there ! 

The gentle Anne, ah, see ! 

What grace upon her brow : 
Just as she used to be, 

I fondly see her now ! 



92 

Letitia still as mild, 
And still as happy, too, 

As when, scarce more than child, 
I first her mildness knew. 

And lastly do I see. 

Defying Time's decrees, 

Still playful— full of glee, 
The blithe and gay Louise ! 



LOUISE. 

Though late I sang in gladsome strain 
Of sisters three ; 

The happy tone 
Shall never wake to life again. 
For death hath taken of them twain, 
And left, to see, 

Louise alone ! 

Consumption's slow, unerring aim 
Was fixed on one ; 

Ere tears were dried, 
That flowed in fond Letitia's name. 
With piercing dart again he came ; 
The prize he won, 

And Anne, too, died* 



93 



Green be the graves where they two sleep, 
And still I'll own 

Their mem'ry dear, 
And fondest recollections keep. 
Within my bosom cherished deep, 
Of hours now flown, 

When they were here. 

And thou, Louise, though grief be thine, 
Shalt find a balm 

In mem'ry too; 
And thou shalt feel a hope divine. 
When thou with rose and columbine. 
At evening calm, 

Their graves shall strew ; 

There is a shade upon thy brow, 
Upon thy cheek 

A tear-drop stands ; 
Thou'rt not so light aud joyous now ; 
But well it is we're taught to bow. 
And learn to seek 

Faith's brio-hter lands ! 



94 



ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. 

Pale deatli is on the infant's brow, 

Her tiny breath is still ; 
No pains may reach the loved one now, 

She knoweth nonght of ill. 

How brief, ala;s ! the joy she woke — 

How soon of life bereft ; 
Though trust in God disarm the stroke, 

The traces yet are left. 

The tender bud, so fondly loved, 

Has faded from the earth : 
And mourning for the loved one lost, 

Has tA'en the place of mirth. 

But though of her the mortal part 

Is pressed beneath the sod, 
She lives within a mother's heart. 

Her spirit is with God! 



95 



TO MARY. 



No sphere in life is free from care, 
No sphere so bright that we may always smile, 

Nor yet so dark an one, that there 
No joys may come, the spirit to beguile. 

But in a world where good and ill. 
Must come to all in more or less degree, 

The bending and submissive will. 
Can brighten all " where darkness else would be." 

Oh, Mary ! whatsoe'er betide, 
As o'er life's rugged path thou tak'st thy way, 

Keep bland Contentment by thy side. 
And chase all lurking discontent away ! 



9G 



THE GARLAND. 

I'll twino theo a garland to-day 

Of the modest wild-wood flow'rs : 
And its simplenoss shall convey 

A thought of our childhood's houre. 
No gaudy flowers shall there bo twined 

The simple blossoms among ; 
None but the flow 'rets we used to bind, 

In the days when wc were young. 

When the setting sun's roseate hues 

Has fled to the lovely west, 
When flowers were drinking the dows. 

And the birds had gone to rest ; 
And the pale moon's silvery light 

Shone over mountain and lea ; — 
Together, oft, on such a night, 

We'd roan\ through the wild-wood free. 

And you know the chajdots I wreathed 

Were blossoms plucked by the way, 
And the mutual thoughts we breathed, 

Were modest and pure as they ; 
Then let n\e twine no gaudy flow'rs 

In your promised coronet, 
Thnt will shame the innocent hours, 

Whoso momorv charms us vet. 



97 



WHEN THOU ART HERE. 

How slowly drag the weary hours along, 

When thou'rt not here ! 
Then Art's rich glow, and Nature's smiles alike 

Seem cold and drear. 
And in the night's deep, silent solitude 

I watch, in fear, 
That the rude wind with note of ill to thee 

Shall strike my ear. 

The J say 'tis womanish, but what care I 

For cynic's sneer ? 
Should we not kindly think, when they're away, 

Of those most dear ? 
Should I be censured harshly when I slight 

The words of cheer 
That fall so coldly from the lips of friends. 

When thou'rt not here? 

How swiftly, softly steal the hours away. 

When thou art here ! 
New beauties seem to glow in all I see — 

In all I hear ; 
While Joy, and Peace, and Love, fill all my soul 

The glorious sphere. 
With its bright, gleaming stars, is lovelier now, 

When thou art here ! 



98 



DELIA 



A song for tlie blue-eyed Delia ! Wake, 
Ye senses of the true and beautiful, 
And lend your pow'r to court the gentle one, 
With flow'rs of poesy, fit to strew her path ! 
You can impart no charm or grace to her, 
Who is all beauty and all grace. But she 
Will brightly gild with her own loveliness 
Your blushing hues, and sparkle in each line 
" A bright particular star." 

All have felt 
There lurks a spell in the mild eye of some 
Fair radiant beauties, that doth chain our hearts — 
A witchery that hath not been defined, 
That captivates — entrances, — binds. 

Others as fair, 
Possess no pow'r to touch a single chord 
Of the soul's music, — while their fingers sweep 
The tremulous strings, that, bending to the charm. 
Yield harmony delightful, and give forth 
A magic influence tliat commands our love : 
Such is the pow'r of Delia. 



99 



She is not 
The pale beauty that love-sick swains admire, 
And prate of in their dreamy slumbers ; she 
Wins hearts worth conquering, and holding bound 
In her witching thrall. The blooming rose-bud 
Hath not a fresher tint than her fair cheek, 
Nor the plumed bird a brighter eye. She walks 
A queen by Nature's own appointment, and 
Her voice commands all hearts to loyalty. 
Her subjects are not slaves, and yet they bow 
Submissively to the sweet despotism 
Which she exerts, — exerts unconsciously ! 
A gentle tyrant is this queen of hearts — 
She never kills with a cold look or word, 
Those whom she subjugates. May her kind reign 
Be long and happy. 



100 



THE SONG OF THE JOY-FORSAKEN. 

Tho' all is bright 
'Mid mirth and light, 

Wherever beauty dwells, 
No scene from me 
Wakes song and glee, 

No joy my bosom swells. 

Tho' happy hearts 

With winsome arts 
Beguile the passing hour. 

And others know 

The height'ning glow, 
I cannot feel its pow'r. 

Let others twine 

The leaf and vine 
In chaplets for the fair ; 

And pledge the vow, 

And deck the brow, 
While beauty lingers there. 

Ah ! beauty fades ; — 

The tioral braids 
Will droop, and fall, and die ; 

The vows so oft 

In cadence soft 
Once whispered, then Avill fly ! 



101 

The blooming flow'rs 
Of Beauty's bow'rs, 

The liglit heart's minstrelsy, 
The laugh — the dance — 
The bright eye's glance, 

Are joys no more for me. 

The withered flow'rs 

Of bygone hours, 
The heart bereft of glee ; 

The choking sigh — 

The tearful eye, 
Alas ! these are for me. 

While others may 

Their heart-songs gay. 
Ring out in accents free, 

Without relief 

I pine in grief, — 
There is no joy for me ! 



102 



SONG.— BE BLITHE AND GAY. 

Be blithe and gay, 
Laugh while you may, 

Nor seek a hidden sorrow ; 
Aye ! pluck the rose 
While its blush glows, — 

Its thorn may sting to-morrow. 

Time is fleeting. 

Ever cheating 
Those whom hopes alone employ ; 

The Present teems 

With happy beams 
Of the light of love and joy. 

The Future opes 

No rainbow hopes 
Of a tinting half so bright, 

As those which show 

In the sunny glow 
Of the Present s golden light. 

Fright care away ! 

Let not to-day 
Its meshes your souls enchain ; 

Be the sword and shield 

That ye shall wield 
A song and a smile at pain. 



103 

If ye must flinch, 

Give not an inch, 
Till the last faint joy is dead ; 

While there's a ray. 

Catch it to-day — 
To-morrow it may be fled. 

Then be ye gay ! 

Laugh while you may, 
Nor trouble strive to borrow ; 

Enjoy the hour 

While yov've the pow'r — 
You may be sad to-morrow. 



104 



RECOLLECTIONS. 



" With what a fairy spell doth memory 
Call up the past to throng the present hour." 



My native hills ! — my native hills ! 
For you how oft my bosom thrills, 

By recollection drawn 
Back to your lovely closing day, 

And glowing rural morn. 

How sweet the spell that lingered o'er 
Those sun-lit hours, the days of yore, 

Unclouded by a tear, 
When merry shouts went loudly forth. 

When blithsome friends were near. 

When o'er each young unwrinkled brow, 
There came no shadows, such as now 

O'er manhood's often flit. 
But when each joyous, laughing eye, 

With happiness was lit. 



105 



My native hills ! your every glade, 
And each old haunt where I have played, 

In happy childhood free, 
Live yet within my hosom,— yet 

Endeared by memory. 

A tear will start for pleasures fled, 
But riper joys I seek instead, 

For time is waning fast ; 
'Tis idle in me to compare 

The present and the past ! 



106 



THE HEART THAT FEELS FOR OTHERS. 

TO MRS. C. A. S. 

Many are they who claim to feel 

A friendship true and dear, 
Yet all their art cannot conceal 

That they are insincere. 

So wide their actions seem to be 
From what their words express — 

'Tis all a heartless mockery, 
The friendship they profess. 

Were words but deeds, no truer friends 
Than they were ever known ; 

Were smiles but pearls, how many gems 
Would friendship's casket own ! 

But smiles may play upon the lip 
That come not from the heart, 

As many seeming sweets we sip, 
That but disguise a smart. 

The test of friends is not alone 

In words, or smile, or sigh : 
We hear it in their every tone. 

Wo read it in the eye ! 



10/ 



Oh, give me the friend that grieves 
For the wo that is anotlier's ; 

Give me the friend that ne'er dcceives,- 
And the heart that feels for others ! 

Lady, thou art that constant friend, 
That genial heart is thine ; 

'Tis such as thou that lustre lend 
To friendship's glowing shrine 



108 



FLOWERS. 

Whether the lovely, God-sent flow'rs 
Or rise in fields or bloom in bow'rs, 
I cannot pass them but I feel 
A pleasure o'er my senses steal ; 
And on their beauty as I gaze, 
I'm wrapped within a dreamy maze. 

Beauteous flowers ! how they seem 
To wake anew Life's early dream ; — 
Those days of joyous revelry, 
When care was not — the heart was free ! 
When lovely flow'rs from lowly bed. 
Were culled so oft and garlanded ! 

Ah ! who would lightly from him fling 
Those precious flow'rets of the Spring, 
The early flowers that look so bright 
After the dreary Winter's flight. 
Gently their petals, bright in hue. 
Unfolding to the pearly dew ? 

There is a silent language, too, 

In every bud that meets the view ; 

Some thought in each sweet flow'r conveyed 

By loving youth to blushing maid. 

And fitting emblems they, to show 

Or lover's vows, or mourner's wo. 



109 

How tenderly in them is wove 
Affection, Friendship, Truth, and Love ! 
Oh ! how expressively they tell 
Of passion's warm, extatic swell, — 
Better than words can e'er impart, 
For they're the tokens of the Heart ! 

Each tender bud, each gentle flow'r, 
Reminds us of some by-gone hour, 
Nor can we bear to throw them by, 
They are so lovely to the eye ! 
Enchanting liow'rs ! how soon they die ; 
E'en so do Youth and Beauty fly ! 

But though fond youth and beauty's bloom. 

Like flowers, early find a tomb, 

Let Peace and Virtue grow instead, 

Let Charity her perfume shed, 

And Faith and Hope be always ours ; — 

These are the Soul's unfading flow'rs. 



110 



TAKE HEED LEST YE FALL." 

Ye toilers up the steep of life ; 

Ye dwellers by the road ; 
Ye men of might, and men of strife ; 

And ye whom sorrows goad : 
And more than all, ye butterflies, 

Who roam in flowr'y mead, 
Learn timely, truly to be wise ! 

Of hidden shafts take heed ! 
Oh, listen not to foul temptation's call, 
But as ye journey, " take heed lest ye fall !" 

Vice ofttimes wears a look of good. 

And creeps with stealthy pace ; 
Ere life be o'er ye will have stood 

In many a slip'ry place. 
Then scan ye with most earnest gaze, 

Before ye pass along, 

And view each action's every phase, 

That you may shun the wrong. 

Look where ye see is drawn the darkened pall 

O'er others' joys, and " take heed lest ye fall !" 

Think, when the tempting wassail-lwwl 

Is protlcred to your lips, 
How many a pooT, degraded soul) 

In ffiftdnc^ \rildlygi|)gl 



in 



And when ye see the liquid quaffed, 

With song and revel-boast, 
Beware the revel's copious draught, 
BcAvare the feaster's toast ; 
Above the song hear then the warning call, 
And pause awhile ; — oh, " take heed lest ye fall !" 

When glit'ring gold that is not thine. 

Shall haunt thee with its glare. 
Oh, pause ye at the gilded shrine — 

Of lust have ye a care ! 
Go seek, in yonder prison halls. 

The convict's gloomy cell ; 
Go stand within those dark, damp walls. 

And ponder how he fell ; 
See the hagorard visage — see the chains and ball : 
Can gold now tempt y ou ? " Take heed lest ye fall !" 

Tho' the seekers after pleasure. 

And seekers after gain,- - 
Tho' these may lose the treasure, 

And those may reap but pain ; 
'Twere better that their wishes be 

By ruling fate reversed. 
Than with deep pangs of misery. 

Their lives should aye be cursed : 
'Tis better that your pleasures here be small, 
Than never ye should •' take heed lest ye fall '" 



l\'2 



THE MUSIC OF A LAUGH. 

The music of a merry laugh ! It vibrates on my car, 

Like a fiimiliar melody tl\at gives delight to hear : 

It wakens all my brightest thoughts of days now long 

agoue. 
When merrily we danced adown Life's verdure-coveral 

lawn. — 
AVhen sweet cont<nit and buoyancy were aye the heart's 

good dow'r 
And brightest joys were clustered round each quickly- 
passing hour ! 

May gloom and sadness ne'er be found to lurk upon my 

brow ; 
Nor let the glowing happy Past o'ertop the tleoting > ow : 
But may I yet in every scene that rises to my view. 
Be known to find a joy in life, and beauties ever now : 
And while fond mem'ry cherishes the dreams of early 

youth, 
^lay the present fcike their glowing forms, and realize 

their truth. 

When sick in body, and oppressed with many an anxious 

care, 
111 turn to Friendship's holy shrine and still find jions- 

ure there; 



113 



And never may I be so cold as not to feel a cliecr, 

In the merry laugh of happy minds whene'er its sound 

I hear : 
The song of birds is gladsome, but more musical by 

half, 
Is that melody of joyf ulness, the music of a laugh! 



THE STUMP OF A GOOD CIGAR. 



Oh ! how I hate to throw 

The stump of a good cigar away ! 

A something in its dying glow 
And wasting ashes, seems to say, 

" 'Oherish me now for the pleasure I woke 

In your bosom when you began to smoke.'' 

Then once again I press 

Its form to my lips, and puff away," 
And I love it not less 

That its dullness betokens decay, 
But I sigh as I fling it at some dog's pate — 
Peace to thy ashes — thy flavor was great ! 



114 



THE BOY THAT FED THE FISHES ; 

A STORY WITH A MORAL. 

A wayward little boy one day, 

Far out at sea, 
(Determined he would have his way, 

Let what might he,) 
Was leaning over the side of the craft 

Quite carelessly. 
In the part of the ship they call " abaft :" 

" Who cares ?" said he, 
" If dad did tell me not to lean, 

What's that to me? 
'Twas only his old fashioned spleeu, 

When I'm in glee. 
It's a pity a fellow can't act like his chums, 

And have his wishes ; — 
Now I will lean off here and throw over the crumbs, 

To feed the fislics." 

And there lie leaned, but a sudden swell 

Convulsed the sea. 
And down the impertinent urchin fell. 

Toward the " lee." 
The father cried to the sailors aloud. 

His son to save^ 



115 



And declared that the boy, without a shroud, 

Would find a grave. 
The old man was right, for a couple of sharks, 

Were on the scent, 
And they tore him to bits in their jolly larks, 

And down he went 
Through their capaciously huge and distended throats: 

lie had his wishes, 
For after his death (there was no need of the boats,) 

He fed the Jislies. 



116 



A SONNET ON SONNETS, 



Aye ! cramp the poet's easy, flowing song 

And let old Petrarch govern still thy rhymes, 
Who wrote another tongue, in other times ; 

No matter how the burning thoughts may throng. 

How brief the inspiration be, or long — 

The bounds are set, then let none dare presume 
A line, or more or less, than those consume, 

Which Petrarch used — for Critics deem it wrong. 

Must genius bound its outbreaks by a line. 
Or torture English by th' Italian school, 

And mutilate a sentiment divine, 

To bring its gushings -forth to Petrarch's rule? 

No ! Let the lover through a sonnet shine. 
To captivate the fair — and please a fool ! 



117 



CHARITY. 

'Twas nighfc. Within a mean abode 

Was heard a wailing cry ; 
And Wealth and Beauty gayly rode 

In glit'ring carriage by. 
While some heard not the piteous moan, 

Some heard but heeded not, 
And left its inmates there alone, 

And soon the wail forgot. 

Then silence reigned within the street, 

No carriages went by, 
And all unheard the tramp of feet. 

But still that wailing cry 
Came forth in smothered accents low, 

And mingled with the wind, 
That murmured with a dirge-like flow, 

A.S if relief 'twould find ; 

As if relief 'twould find for those 

Within that mean abode, 
For there were complicated woes, 

There Death and Famine strode : 
The husband on a pallet lay 

In agony of death ; 
The children, without food all day, 

Asked bread with feeble breath. 



IIS 

The mother prayed to Heaven for aid, 
To give her children bread ; 

Her husband's hand in hers was laid, 
But he was with the dead. 

But hark ! a footstep doth she hear, 
Her lowly room before ; 

Yes, yes ! thank Heaven, it draweth near- 
Taps sonie one at the door ! 

'Twas a laborer returning*. 

(Just from work he'd had relief,) 
And he saw the dim light burning, 

And heard the tones of grief; 
So he gently rapped, and entered. 

And when he learned the wo. 
All his thoughts at once were centered. 

How his kindness to bestow. 

But no one told he of the aid 

He gave to them that night, — 
How at the work of love he stayed, 

Until the early light ; 
And how at each returning day 

Of their estate he thought. 
And always when he came that way, 

Some kindlv comfort brought. 



119 

How he fed the little children, 

And cheered the mother's heart, 
Told the gracious tears unbidden. 

That from tlicir eyes would start ; 
Tears of gratitude and blessing, 

Such as shall ever flow. 
Ever thankfully addressing 

Those who like him bestow. 

Oh! his was charity indeed, 

Of loyal stamp, and true. 
For which an almost boundless meed 

Of honest praise is due ; 
Unlike the gifts of those who needs 

Must trumpet them to fame, — 
Whose love of charitable deeds, 

Is only in the name. 



120 



MALICE 



"Mens' evil manners live in brass ; their virtues 
We write in water." 



Lives not a man of noble act and thought, 
How strojigly wliatso'er in virtue mailed, 
Whom rude and envious tongues have not assailed ; 

And eagerly at veriest trifles caught, 

To blast his fame, and bring his name to nought. 
An age of wisdom and of worth cannot 
Excuse a moment's folly ; all forgot, 

The beaming good with which his life is fraught, 

And nought remembered but the transient ill. 
By which alone he's judged ; least act of all, 

But weightiest to Malice. It can fill 

Mens' thoughts and speech ; but narrow thoughts 
and small, 

Are those which deem that baleful slander will 
The wicked elevate by Virtue's fall ! 



121 

THE FIRST AND LAST LINKS 
OF A GOLDEN CHAIN. 

With the heart of yoimu* Branton Dan Cupid liatl 
phiycd, 

Oh! how -wantonly, wiklly, and madly; 
And his mandates of L)ve had heen ever obeyed, 

And apparently, each time more gladly. 

But the tender impressions that each g-entle girl 
Made, in turn, on liis lieart 80 confiding. 

Were so Heetiiiii" and transient, tliat eacJi giddy wliir], 
Had a brief, though a brilliant abiding. 

Though tlie cliains that were forged for the love-ridden 
swain, 
One by one, time liad rutlilessly parted, 
Soon the briglit links of Ioa-c liis warm breast bound 
again, 
So he never was long " broken hearted." 

He once chanced at a soiree to be introduced 
To a cocpictte quite roj^uish and charming: 

And was so far enclianted, his fancy produced. 
The next morning, this symptom alarming : 



122 

THE AVOWAL. 

Last night we met ; and, oh ! I thought 

That thou wast passing lovely, 
And that thine eyes a ray had caught 

From some bright star above thee ! 
How brief that meeting was, alas ! 

And how I mourned the parting. 
And how I wished that thou, sweet lass, 

Could but delay the starting ! 

But no ! it could not be, and thou 

Must leave the festive meeting. 
Ere I could breathe a friendly vow, 

Or whisper thee Love's greeting ! 
Yet my affections followed thee, 

And still are near thee dwelling, — 
Say, shall my heart throbs ever be 

In vain their passion telling ? 

Or canst thou cast a thought on me. 

Emboldened by thy graces. 
To ask if passion, thus begun, 

Is false in what it traces ? 
It traces thee as one whose soul, 

Though lofty, scorns not lending 
A pliant ear to that control, 

'Twixt Love and beauty blending. 



123 

I saw tliee — loved thee; Beauty's strain 

Entranced my captive spirit ; 
I've dreamed it o'er and o'er again, 

And waking, still I hear it. 
'Tis like some low and plaintive tone, 

Heard at the vesper hour, 
In music that the heart must own 

Hath witching grace and power! 

Yet only once ! and couldst thou please 

Me thus in one brief meeting? 
Ah, yes ! thou might'st the stoic's ease 

Transform to Love's quick beating ! 
My fond affections are with thee. 

Oh ! ever near thee dwelling ; 
Say, shall my heart-throbs ever be 

In vain their passion telling ? 



This delicious avowal was writ to the maid 

On most delicate rose-tinted paper, 
And was sealed with a seal of most exquisite grade. 

By the flame of a pure waxen taper. 

But no word,or loved sign did she deign to bestow, 

In return for his ardent devotion ; 
And she left him to languish in heart-rending wo. 

And to mourn his ne2:lected emotion. 



124 



Then so deep was the feeling of grief in his heart, — 
With so teeming a tide did his weary thoughts throng, 

That he fain must his lonely regrettings impart, 
And thus let his grievings burst forth into song : 

THE DISAPPOINTMENT. 

Oh ! how bright and how brief was the pleasure I felt. 
When I saw thee in beauty so sweetly arrayed, 

That it seemed as in Fairy-land truly I dwelt, 

And that thou wert some sylphide around me that 
played. 

But quickly it vanished, that dream of an hour, — 
Yet I thought I should meet thee in joy once again ; 

We met — but my fancy had lost all its power, 

And the pleasure I hoped for was changed into pain. 

Too brilliant and glowing the hopes I had cherished — 
Too ardent t]ie passion provoked by thy charms ; 

'Neath tlic glance of indif 'rence tho.se hopes have all 
perished, 
Tliy coldness the strength of my passion disarms. 

I would again we liad not met ; for then I might 
Have still found a joy in the pleasure I knew. 

And though in doubt the futiire — still have missed the 
blight, 
Of joys that in the bud were nipt, soon as they grew ! 



125 



But yet once more I saw tliee, robed in spotless white, 
In Music's temple — list'ning to the strains that fell 

From the light opera ; and where, though all was bright, 
I sadly sat, and whispered thee in thought — Farewell ! 



Poor Branton ! how coldly neglected and smitten ; 

Sure nothing thy sensitive soul e'er can heal ; 
What anguish of heart, all unsaid and unwritten, 

A wanderer here art thou destined to feel ! 

" But soft," says a friend, " pray let no tear-drop fall, 
sir, 

Your sympathy cometh a little too late ;" 
What ! is poor Branton dead ? '•' oh, no, not at all, sir, 

He's forgotten proud Jane in his passion for Kate !" 



126 



GOOD-NIGHT. 



Good-night ! and may the god of sleep 

Press gently on thy brow, 
And on thy lip may softly creep 

The smile that plays there now. 

All undisturbed be thy repose 

Dy visions of grim care, 
And tliy young heart so light, that woes 

May find no dwelling there. 

While angels guard tliy downy bed, 

May fear of ill depart, 
And liright-winged peace play round thy head, 

And nestle in thy heart. 

May all thy dreams be happy themes 

Of joy, and love, and light. 
And all thy life be like thy dreams — 

So, once again, good night! 



3477-5 



